one had a design on the top.
Fit for a queen…
Deirdre forced her fingers to push the buttons through their holes. She’d agreed to the deception, and that meant wearing the clothing of a highborn lady. At least the surcoat began to warm her, and she turned to rolling the garments she’d placed over the boulder. Once they were tied onto the animal again, she looked toward the soldiers to discover them watching her.
She felt her stomach tighten with dread. Every one of them looked as though he was ready to walk to his own execution. She forced down the lump that appeared in her throat. But that didn’t stop her from feeling like the fine clothing she wore was burning her. She wanted to cast it off and had to quell the urge by recalling why she was wearing it.
The future. She wanted more from life, and she would have to earn it.
Deirdre lifted her chin. “Shall we go?”
***
Time felt frozen.
In spite of the way the sun rose and warmed her face, Deirdre would have sworn every minute was as long as an hour while the soldiers took her up the rocky roads that led to the Highlands. She could see the heather beginning to bloom and smell it, because the Englishmen kept their pace slow. By afternoon, she was ready to flinch from the sound of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground. Every one of her senses felt strained, and her neck ached from how much she was jerking her face around to look for attackers.
Joan Beaufort had earned her sympathy for living under such horrible stress.
“There looks to be a village ahead. We’ll see if they have an inn.”
Deirdre jerked her face around again, because the solders had ignored her for the entire day. They’d spoken to one another, but never to her. This man looked tired, as though he was as exhausted as she felt, but there was a spark of kindness in his eyes that she found very welcome.
“They should have something to offer for supper,” he said before closing his mouth with a shrug.
“That would be very nice.” Deirdre searched her mind to recall how the queen had spoken. She lowered her voice and tried to wash the Scottish brogue from her pronunciation, but feared she failed.
“Aye, that’s a good trick to practice,” he remarked. “I suppose this ruse won’t work very well if anyone hears that accent of yours. Best leave the conversation to us.” He waved his hand in the air. “Ladies don’t generally talk to their escorts anyway. Just smile and nod or shake your head.”
“If you believe that is best.” Deirdre felt confidence building as she remembered to say “you” instead of “ye.” The word felt slightly awkward, but the man grinned.
“You’re a clever one, I can see why our lady choose you.”
Satisfaction edged his voice now. He offered her an approving look before nudging his horse forward so he was once more riding close to one of his companions. Four of the men were in front of her, and four behind. It felt like the sun was shining brighter on her, illuminating her to anyone who looked up as they passed. There were houses along the road now, and the scent of cooking food drifted to her nose. Deirdre heard her belly rumble, low and long. The tension of the day had made it possible for her to ignore her hunger, but now that she could smell bread baking, it was impossible to miss how empty her belly was.
A sharp whistle broke through her attention. The soldier at the front of their party was pointing at a weathered sign hanging in front of a large building. There were long rails set outside it to tie horses to, but the sign advertised stable-boarding services as well as rooms for rent.
Her escort stopped, smiles appearing on the faces of the men. Deirdre sighed, the tension that had plagued her most of the day doubling as the patrons of the establishment peered at her intently. It was an effort to hold her chin steady, as if she were accustomed to wearing gold and velvet upon the road.
Only Englishwomen did such a thing, and that was
Fit for a queen…
Deirdre forced her fingers to push the buttons through their holes. She’d agreed to the deception, and that meant wearing the clothing of a highborn lady. At least the surcoat began to warm her, and she turned to rolling the garments she’d placed over the boulder. Once they were tied onto the animal again, she looked toward the soldiers to discover them watching her.
She felt her stomach tighten with dread. Every one of them looked as though he was ready to walk to his own execution. She forced down the lump that appeared in her throat. But that didn’t stop her from feeling like the fine clothing she wore was burning her. She wanted to cast it off and had to quell the urge by recalling why she was wearing it.
The future. She wanted more from life, and she would have to earn it.
Deirdre lifted her chin. “Shall we go?”
***
Time felt frozen.
In spite of the way the sun rose and warmed her face, Deirdre would have sworn every minute was as long as an hour while the soldiers took her up the rocky roads that led to the Highlands. She could see the heather beginning to bloom and smell it, because the Englishmen kept their pace slow. By afternoon, she was ready to flinch from the sound of the horses’ hooves hitting the ground. Every one of her senses felt strained, and her neck ached from how much she was jerking her face around to look for attackers.
Joan Beaufort had earned her sympathy for living under such horrible stress.
“There looks to be a village ahead. We’ll see if they have an inn.”
Deirdre jerked her face around again, because the solders had ignored her for the entire day. They’d spoken to one another, but never to her. This man looked tired, as though he was as exhausted as she felt, but there was a spark of kindness in his eyes that she found very welcome.
“They should have something to offer for supper,” he said before closing his mouth with a shrug.
“That would be very nice.” Deirdre searched her mind to recall how the queen had spoken. She lowered her voice and tried to wash the Scottish brogue from her pronunciation, but feared she failed.
“Aye, that’s a good trick to practice,” he remarked. “I suppose this ruse won’t work very well if anyone hears that accent of yours. Best leave the conversation to us.” He waved his hand in the air. “Ladies don’t generally talk to their escorts anyway. Just smile and nod or shake your head.”
“If you believe that is best.” Deirdre felt confidence building as she remembered to say “you” instead of “ye.” The word felt slightly awkward, but the man grinned.
“You’re a clever one, I can see why our lady choose you.”
Satisfaction edged his voice now. He offered her an approving look before nudging his horse forward so he was once more riding close to one of his companions. Four of the men were in front of her, and four behind. It felt like the sun was shining brighter on her, illuminating her to anyone who looked up as they passed. There were houses along the road now, and the scent of cooking food drifted to her nose. Deirdre heard her belly rumble, low and long. The tension of the day had made it possible for her to ignore her hunger, but now that she could smell bread baking, it was impossible to miss how empty her belly was.
A sharp whistle broke through her attention. The soldier at the front of their party was pointing at a weathered sign hanging in front of a large building. There were long rails set outside it to tie horses to, but the sign advertised stable-boarding services as well as rooms for rent.
Her escort stopped, smiles appearing on the faces of the men. Deirdre sighed, the tension that had plagued her most of the day doubling as the patrons of the establishment peered at her intently. It was an effort to hold her chin steady, as if she were accustomed to wearing gold and velvet upon the road.
Only Englishwomen did such a thing, and that was
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